under his windows, the
pastoral valley, smooth lake and willowy island, seemed hateful to him.
He felt himself hemmed round by those green hills, by yonder brown and
rugged wall of Nabb Scar, stifled for want of breathing space. The
landscape was lovely enough, but it was like a beautiful grave. He
longed to get away from it.

'Another man would follow her to St. Bees,' he said. 'I will not.'

He flung a few things into a Gladstone bag, sat down, and wrote a brief
note to Maulevrier, asking him to make his excuses to her ladyship. He
had made up his mind to go to Keswick that afternoon, and would rejoin
his friend to-morrow, at Carlisle. This done, he rang for Maulevrier's
valet, and asked that person to look after his luggage and bring it on
to Scotland with his master's things; and then, without a word of adieu
to anyone, John Hammond went out of the house, with the Gladstone bag in
his hand, and shook the dust of Fellside off his feet.

He ordered a fly at the Prince of Wales's Hotel, and drove to Keswick,
whence he went on to the Lodore. The gloom and spaciousness of
Derwentwater, grey in the gathering dusk, suited his humour better than
the emerald prettiness of Grasmere--the roar of the waterfall made music
in his ear. He dined in a private room, and spent the evening roaming on
the shores of the lake, and at eleven o'clock went back to his hotel and
sat late into the night reading Heine, and thinking of the girl who had
refused him.

Mr. Hammond's letter was delivered to Lord Maulevrier five minutes
before dinner, as he sat in the drawing-room with her ladyship and Mary.
Poor Mary had put on another pretty gown for dinner, still bent upon
effacing Mr. Hammond's image of her as a tousled, frantic creature in
torn and muddy raiment. She sat watching the door, just as Hammond had
watched it three hours ago.

'So,' said Maulevrier, 'your ladyship has succeeded in driving my friend
away. Hammond has left Fellside, and begs me to convey to you his
compliments and his grateful acknowledgment of all your kindness.'

'I hope I have not been uncivil to him,' answered Lady Maulevrier
coldly. 'As you had both made up your minds to go to-morrow, it can
matter very little that he should go to-day.'

Mary looked down at the ribbon and lace on her prettiest frock, and
thought that it mattered a great deal to her. Yet, if he had stayed,
would he have seen her frock or her? With his bodily eyes, perhaps, but
not with the